Damned If You Do
by liptonrm
Summary: When you think it can't get any worse it probably will. SPN/Jon&Kate Plus Eight crossover.


Title: Damned If You Do

Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to _Supernatural_, those are benevolently dictated by Eric Kripke and Warner Brothers. And I definitely don't have any say about what goes on in the lives of the members of the Gosselin family. This if fiction and I trust it will be viewed accordingly.

Rating: PG-13

Summary: When you think it can't get any worse it probably will. Crossver wih _Jon & Kate Plus Eight_

Author's Note: This is all for the Baylor Sister. I hope you're proud of the things you make me do. Happy Birthday!

* * *

Jon Gosselin stared at the shot glass in front of him. The amber liquid promised him at least a momentary escape from home and responsibility. He loved his family but sometimes he needed just a little escape.

Thank God those damn cameras hadn't followed him into the bar. He didn't need grief from Kate about getting plastered, or from half of America, for that matter.

He signaled to the bartender for another shot. He had a feeling it wasn't going to be his last.

An hour and a couple more drinks later Jon was pleasantly relaxed. He hummed along with the music that wafted over from the jukebox and drew pictures in the condensation on his beer bottle. He didn't think about the kids or his job or the crazy fanmail, he just swayed on his barstool and felt at peace with the world.

"Man, I love this song," he announced to the world-at-large right before taking another hefty swig of beer.

A throaty chuckle sounded from somewhere off to his right. "It's got a beat and I guess you could dance to it,' the same whiskey-smooth voice responded.

A shiver raced up Jon's spine, an involuntary reaction to all the things a voice like that to his hindbrain. He might be the most married man in America but he still had a dick, goddammit, and he couldn't help responding to a woman who sounded like that.

He swiveled around on his stool and got a good, long look at his neighbor. She was everything her pipes had promised and more. She was a couple years older than him and she wore her years damn well. Her eyes told him that she'd seen more than he'd ever imagined and that smile she shot him over the lip of her beer bottle, well, you'd have to be dead or a eunuch not to get a charge out of it.

Jon grinned back and even in his drunken haze he could tell it was one of the dopiest he'd ever worn. "You're not from around here, are you?"

She raised an eyebrow and his words filtered back through his brain. He wanted to smack his head against the bar. Way to throw out one of the cheesiest pick-up lines ever there, Gosselin.

Her grin widened into a smile at his discomfiture and she chuckled again, sending another shock through Jon's system. "Something like that. I'm in the area on business." She gestured at him with the hand holding her beer bottle. "And what about you? You don't seem like the type who spends his weekday nights at the bar."

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I'm not, really. Just had to get away from the wife and kids for a little while, get some breathing room. I love 'em but, well, eight kids can kinda feel like a circus sometimes, you know?"

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Eight, huh? I only ever had one and she was trouble enough. That's something else." She saluted him with her bottle and then took a good, long pull.

"Yeah, well-" Jon stuttered, distracted by the line of her throat as she drank. He shook his head in an attempt to clear it. "They're great, though. Can't imagine life without them." He was reaching into his back pocket for his wallet before he even realized what he was going to do. Part of his brain was yelling at him to stop, that he was totally screwing his chances with the hot chick, but he couldn't help showing off his kids. He didn't think he could be more proud of them if he tried.

He handed his wallet over, the family photo right on top. "That's my wife Kate and there are all my kids. Mady and Cara are the big ones and the rest are, well, they're mine." He knew the dopey grin was back on his face and he didn't care.

"They're beautiful," she said softly as she stared at the photo. She handed it back to him, something like sorrow or regret in her eyes. "You're a lucky man."

"Yeah I am," he agreed almost reverently as he stowed his wallet away. He blinked to ward off the sudden tears.

When he looked back the sad look was gone from her face. "Hey, I'm Ellen." She held her hand out to him, a grin teasing at the corners of her mouth.

"I'm Jon." He shook her hand firmly, his good mood back to stay.

Another hour passed, more or less, and Jon found himself out on the street. The cold air felt good, he just needed to clear his head a little before he headed back home. Kate would have a raging fit if he came home more than a little tipsy.

He wandered down the block slowly. He wasn't sure what time it was. All he knew was that it was dark out, too dark to see much beyond the circular oases of the streetlights. But he wasn't worried. Nothing ever happened around here.

A wave of foul, rotten air wafted out to him as he passed by the alley behind the bar. He bent over and gagged, eyes watering. It smelled like something had died back there.

The trashcans clanged together and he froze, sudden adrenaline pumping through his system. He slowly straightened as panic curled in the pit of his stomach. He had a bad feeling about this.

He peered down the alley, eyes narrowed. He could just make out a dark shape crouched behind a bin. He started panting, his breaths shallow. He stepped forward to get a better look even though all of his instincts were screaming at him to run away.

Suddenly the shape straightened and before Jon could move it was on him. It was shaped like a human but it didn't look like one. The smell this close was almost too rancid to handle and its hair was falling out in sick patches. It groaned and leaped at him, its gray, cold hands grabbing at his neck.

Jon pushed at it with all his strength. It was all he could do to keep its snapping mouth away from his neck. He couldn't breathe and he definitely couldn't scream.

A blast cracked through the frozen air and, right in front of Jon's eyes, that snapping head exploded. The body toppled to the ground and behind it stood Ellen, a gigantic, smoking pistol pointed at the motionless corpse.

"Are you okay? Did it bite you?" Ellen brusquely demanded as she poked at the body with the toe of her right boot.

Jon blinked at her, his face covered in slowly congealing gore. "Yes. No. I don't know." Hysteria colored his voice and spots danced in front of his eyes. "What was that thing?"

"A revenant." Ellen matter-of-factly replied. She holstered her gun in the back of her pants and pulled matches and a handkerchief out of her coat pocket. "Here, you'll feel better when you wipe off your face," she assured him, sympathy flitting across her own. "Just let me take care of this mess and we'll call you a cab."

Jon nodded silently. He wiped at his face as she doused the body in accelerant. In a fluid, practiced gesture she lit a book of matches and let it drop, heat and light sweeping through the night as the fire caught.

They stood for a moment, staring at the fire as it consumed the corpse. Ellen looked over at him, a long, measuring look. She carefully picked the handkerchief out of his hand and threw it on the burning pile.

"Come on," she said gently and turned him back towards the streetlights.

As they made their way back down the block Jon couldn't think of anything to say. He could hardly wrap his head around any of it. He either needed to be much more or way less drunk to process what had just happened. That thing lunging for his neck kept on flashing through his mind, bizarrely coupled with the maudlin look on Ellen's face when she'd looked at his family photo.

He stopped her at the bar door. "Are you-" he sputtered for a second and then took a breath. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

Ellen smiled kindly. "You're a real sweetie." She grabbed him in a tight hug and pressed a quick kiss high on his cheek, away from the gore. "Just take care of that family of yours," she said as she pulled away.

"I will," he promised. And he would.

The next morning at work Jon squinted at his computer screen, the mother of all hangover headaches pounding against his sinuses. It had been a hell of a morning at home. Mady had thrown a temper tantrum about something and after that Joel and Colin decided it would be awesome to dump juice all over each other. He could hardly handle Kate's voice at that decibel on a good day. He was lucky he'd made it out of there in one piece.

He clicked on an email from their publicist. It was marked urgent but since she marked every other stray piece of spam as urgent he didn't think much of it. As it was he had to read it twice before its meaning sunk in.

_We have to talk. Looks like you've been a very bad little boy. This is going to get out and when it does it'll be huge. Call me._

Attached was a grainy photo. He stared at it dumbly for a second before he realized it was a picture from the night before. It was he and Ellen in front of the bar and it looked a lot more intimate than he remembered. But it wasn't nearly sharp enough to pick up the revenant-gore spattered all over his coat.

Jon groaned and collapsed onto his desk. Kate was never going to believe him.


End file.
